“You look like the cat that swallowed the canary. What the hell’s so funny?”
“Nada—just thought of a friend of mine. So what’s new on the campaign trail?” Focused on staying alive in Iraq, I hadn’t been paying much attention to events outside that country.
She seemed to believe her guy was a lock for the primary. Politely dancing around any sensitive topics, Anderson gave a sharp overview of the campaign from her vantage point. She did dangle one interesting tidbit: Another big party was scheduled at the senator’s place for Friday night.
So that’s why she’d asked about Friday. Security reasons.
Again I kept it light, giving my answer a real estate spin. “I was just over on that side of the island, visiting Harrison’s neighbors. Pretty nice digs.”
Rowan Anderson looked confused for a moment but quickly recovered. “You must mean the Wilsons.”
I hadn’t mentioned them by name. Another sharp move on her part. She turned the conversation back to politics.
“It’s the last big deal before we pack up this circus and head to Chicago on Monday. Anyway, the place on the other side of the island belongs to Harrison’s wife, Elise Courville. But the party is going to be here.” She pointed to the property next door.
So the senator was on one side of the island, while his wife was on the other. The official explanation for the separate sites was that the senator and his staff wanted a little breathing room as the campaign surged toward the convention finish line.
I didn’t buy thebreathing roomspin.There must be trouble in paradise.I wondered how that would play out if Senator Harrison did win the primary.
Something was fishy.
I could sense that Rowan Anderson was uncomfortable making even the smallest reference to Mrs. Senator, so I didn’t push further.
We polished off the beers and, like an idiot, I looked at my watch as I tried to stifle a yawn.
A vaguely disappointed look fell across her face and then a smile crossed her lips.
I started to apologize like a madman, but she cut me off.
“You’ve had a long day, Nat. I really didn’t mean to stay this late. Maybe a cup of coffee tomorrow? I’m off for once, so I have the whole day free to keep you out of mischief.” She gave me a playful punch on the arm.
I walked her to the door and thanked her for the beer. I was debating—handshake or a kiss?—when she suddenly planted a quick one on my cheek.
Before I could react, she was out the door.
Tomorrow was looking like a much better day than yesterday.
I closed the house down for the night and went upstairs to bed. Three seconds later I was out for the count.
CHAPTER 26
Paris, France
At the sight of the number on his cell phone, the man looked out through the dingy window at the Arc de Triomphe and held his breath. The brief message from Elise Courville contained joyous words.
It was almost time for the call to prayer, but the man decided to praise Allah immediately. He quickly typed a message into his phone and pressed Send. The recipients of the text would read six numbers:052200.Friday, 10 p.m.
The man looked at himself in the mirror as he loosened his custom-tailored Italian tie. He resembled any other European banker.
Unlike most of his followers, the Algerian’s face was clean-shaven and his hands were manicured. He exercised his thirty-year-old body past maintenance and musculature to the point of near-exhaustion daily. Punishing himself in everything he did was simply his way.
The Algerian removed his suit and gently folded it over an old plastic chair in the dilapidated room. He slipped a threadbare garment over his head and pulled out his prayer mat. As soon as he began the first rak’ah of his five-times-daily Salah, he could almost feel the gracious and sweet air of Allah’s breath entering his body.
He begged forgiveness for his many transgressions on his way to the first chapter of a new life—a life controlled by Him, and Him alone. By Saturday morning, the confluence of anger and hatred would be put to rest, bringing an end to his current torment.
But there was much to be done before he could step onto his future path. The pig, the whore, and the infidel must begin their painful journeys to hell. One by one, they would all pay for their shameful sins.
CHAPTER 27
